


Living in The Present

by flawedamythyst



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Winterhawk Week, inaccurate medical science, memory problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-05 09:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: The things Hydra did to Bucky's brain left him with permanent damage to his memory, but it's hard for him to mind too much when living in the present includes living with Clint.Written for Winterhawk Week 2017.





	1. Day One: Disabilities

Bucky was whistling when he came home, unlocking the door with Lucky at his heels and a bag of groceries in his arm. Lucky bounded inside before he’d managed to get his key out of the door, heading straight for the kitchen.

“Clint? Is that you?” called a voice and a strange woman stuck her out the door.

Bucky moved without thinking, dropping the groceries so that he could pull a gun.

“Whoa!” she said, holding her hands up. “Bucky! Chill, it’s me, Kate. Shit, have I really been gone that long?”

Kate Bishop. Clint’s protege. Bucky reached for a memory of her and came up empty. He knew she’d been in LA for a few months, which was long enough for Bucky to have forgotten ever meeting her.

He tried to match this woman’s face up with the blurry photo of her sticking her tongue out that came up on Clint’s phone when Kate called and drew a blank.

“Oh, come on, don’t say Clint doesn’t keep photos of me around?” said possibly-Kate. Lucky was at her feet, pushing his head into her leg, which was a mark in her favour, but Bucky couldn’t shake the idea that if any bad guys knew about his memory problems, then sending in a mole like this would be the first thing they’d try.

“Don’t move,” he growled, pulling out his phone with the hand not holding a gun.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Do I look stupid?”

He dialed Clint’s number and held it to his ear. Thankfully, Clint answered almost immediately.

“Hey, snoopy-schmoochies, how’s it going?” he said, which meant he was with Steve and trying to wind him up.

It was probably working as well. Ridiculous petnames and over-the-tip PDAs were basically Steve’s kryptonite.

“There’s a woman in our apartment who claims to be Kate,” said Bucky.

Clint’s tone shifted to serious in response to the note in Bucky’s voice. “Okay, dark hair, probably wearing purple, rolled her eyes at least twice since she got there?”

“Yep,” said Bucky, not taking his eyes off her. She’d leaned her weight on the door frame and was trying to look relaxed, but he could see the tension in her body.

“Probably her, but better safe than sorry,” said Clint. “Ask her why you should respect a boomerang arrow.”

Bucky repeated that for her.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Barton,” she muttered. “The real answer is that you shouldn’t, it makes no freaking sense, but he’s gonna want me to say ‘because boomerangs’.”

Bucky repeated all that to Clint, who huffed a laugh. “And she rolled her eyes, right?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, watching her shift her weight and adjusting his grip on his gun.

“That’s her,” said Clint. “Chuck her the phone, would’ya, and I’ll explain, yet again, why she needs to not break in without warning.”

Trusting Clint was one of the things that was built into Bucky, memories be damned, so he lowered the gun and tucked it away.

Kate let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, great, thanks.”

He tossed her the phone instead of replying and then turned back to try and salvage the dropped bag of groceries.

By the time Clint got there, Katie had taken a whole bunch of selfies on Bucky’s phone ‘to help remind him next time’. At the point where she was trying to persuade Lucky to look at the camera while holding an arrow in his mouth, Bucky wasn’t so sure that was the point of the exercise any more.

“You need to stop breaking in,” Clint said to Kate after they’d shared a hug.

“It’s not breaking in if you have a key,” she said. “Actually, even if I didn’t have a key it wouldn’t really be breaking in. Do you ever shut your windows?”

“We like the fresh air,” said Clint with a shrug, as if he didn’t mean _Bucky likes having an escape route_. “Not the point though, you need to be mindful of Bucky’s memory like you are of my ears.”

“I know, I know,” she said, and looked at Bucky. “I’m sorry. I totally didn’t realise it had been so long since I was last here. I thought it was only a few weeks ago that we were ganging up on Clint over his appalling diet.”

Bucky didn’t remember that at all. As far as he was concerned, this was the first time he’d met Kate. He shrugged. “It’s cool,” he said. “It’s not the kinda disability people have a lot of experience with.”

When Bucky mentioned having a disability, most people’s eyes flicked straight to his arm. That had never been a disability for him, though. He didn’t remember what it was like to lose his real one, and the metal one made him stronger, faster and more resistant to bullets, which in his line of work was pretty essential.

“People’s minds always go straight to missing limbs,” said Clint with a shrug. His hand stroked through his hair, fingers brushing against his aids, and Bucky wondered if Clint had noticed that he always touched them when disabilities were brought up.

Then he wondered how many times he’d noticed that before now. It definitely felt like he had because the information was familiar in the same way that the schematics of an AK-101 were, or the best way to get Steve red-faced and spluttering in less than five minutes. There were certain things that it didn’t matter whether or not he could remember learning them, because they were engraved in his bones.

“Remember the kids’ party last Christmas, and trying to explain to that douchebag planner that ‘fully accessible’ didn’t just mean a couple of ramps?” asked Kate.

“Nope,” said Bucky, and sent her a grin. “Kinda the point, here.”

Hydra had spent seventy years wiping his memory, tearing out all his experiences before they made it into long-term storage. It had damaged his brain somehow, or maybe the part of his memory that held onto things for longer than a few months had atrophied. Bucky had a feeling that a doctor had explained it to him at some point, but he was willing to bet he hadn’t really understood it even before he forgot it. Everything before a few months ago started to blur into a haze from which only a few bright points stuck out, and anything more than six months ago was completely gone.

“You aren’t missing much,” said Kate. “Seriously, he was a complete ass.”

Clint snorted and settled back against Bucky, nudging him with his shoulder in a pointed way that made Bucky drape an arm around him without thinking. “And he had a ridiculous toupee,” he agreed.

Bucky didn’t remember how he’d reacted when the doctors had told him they couldn’t fix his memory, although if he asked Clint he knew he’d tell him. Clint always made a point of telling Bucky the whole, unvarnished truth about events he couldn’t remember. He was a far more reliable source than Steve, who had a tendency to rose-tint stuff. Bucky didn’t know if he did that for Bucky’s sake or because that was how he remembered things, but either way it made trying to work out what really happened kinda annoying.

“Hey!” said Clint, turning to grin at Bucky. “We should celebrate Kate’s return to us by getting pizza.” Lucky’s head perked up at the word ‘pizza’.

Kate let out a dramatic sigh. “Is it a celebration if you have pizza most nights anyway?”

“Nope,” said Clint. “You underestimate Bucky, we hardly ever have pizza now.”

“We had it the day before yesterday,” Bucky pointed out.

“Exactly,” said Clint. “Nearly 48 hours ago!”

Bucky met Kate’s look, and they both rolled their eyes in synch.

As far as Bucky was concerned, a memory problem was mild compared to the side-effects that he could have had from decades of scientists playing with his brain. The things he didn’t remember were just events, when you came down to it. The important things stayed with him. He might not remember moving into Clint’s apartment in Bed-Stuy, but he knew that it was home. He didn’t remember most of growing up with Steve but he knew he’d always be able to rely on their friendship. He didn’t remember falling in love with Clint, but he knew he was the best thing in his life. 

Maybe Hydra had got him too used to living in the short-term, but a few months of memories always felt like more than enough for him to know his place in the world. It was right next to wherever Clint was.

“Fine, okay, pizza it is,” he said, and was rewarded with Clint’s beaming grin.


	2. Day Two: Injury

Bucky and Clint were on the range when the Avengers alarm went off.

Clint groaned. “Oh man, there goes lunch.”

“Maybe it’ll be a quick one,” said Bucky as they jogged to the elevator.

“A quick one?” repeated Clint. “When have they ever been quick?”

Bucky shrugged as JARVIS whipped them up to the main Avengers floor. “I don’t know, I can’t remember. Maybe we had one last year that was only twenty minutes.”

“We didn’t,” said Clint. “Trust me.”

The others were all in various stages of getting ready for a fight when they got to the locker room. Bucky headed straight for his locker and started pulling on his body armour. “What’re we facing?”

“Sons of the Serpent are camped out at the Civil Rights Garden in Atlantic City,” said Steve. “They’ve started smashing things already.”

There was a collective groan. Bucky glanced at Clint, who gave him a nod to say that he’d catch him up why when they had a moment.

“I fucking hate those assholes,” said Tony as the last part of his armour fitted into place and the eyes lit up.

“Related to what happened last time we fought them?” asked Natasha, giving him an amused look.

Tony huffed out a sigh. “Nope, related to their white supremacist asshole beliefs.”

Clint buckled on his quiver and then leaned over to Bucky. “They somehow managed to down Tony in a swamp,” he muttered. “It was kinda hilarious. He came up just dripping in mud.”

Bucky glanced over at Tony, picturing it. “And no one took a photo?”

“We all took photos,” said Sam. “They mysteriously disappeared off our phones before we even got back here.”

“Musta been a tech glitch,” said Tony. “You know how these things are, so unreliable. Come on, enough gabbing, let’s get going.”

On the quinjet over to Atlantic City, Bucky and Clint stood at the back together, shoulders pressed together, and Clint gave him a quick rundown on the Sons of the Serpent.

“Racist assholes, basically,” he said. “They turn up every year or so, try and start some kinda race war or whatever, we beat them down and they disappear for a bit. They have a lot of weaponry, which is why we tend to get called rather than the cops, but nothing massively advanced, and no powers or anything.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay, so, just a contain and capture of a hostile force then.”

“Basically,” said Clint, “with the added bonus of beating up some racists.”

“My favourite kind of bonus,” said Bucky with a grin.

“You’re only saying that because you don’t remember Tony covered in mud,” said Clint. “Frankly, every fight should feature that.”

“I can hear you, you know,” said Tony.

Sam glanced back from where he was piloting the quinjet. “Does that mean you’ll take one for the team and boost morale by doing it again?”

“Nope,” said Tony. “It means that maybe it’s gonna be someone else’s turn next time.” He turned and gave Clint a meaningful look.

Clint just gave him a shit-eating look. “You won’t pick on me,” he said. “My boyfriend’s the Winter Soldier. He’ll kick your ass.”

“That’s basically what I’m here for,” agreed Bucky.

****

The Sons of the Serpent had the local police cornered and were taking axes to the monuments in the garden when the Avengers arrived. They weren’t managing to do much damage, but Bucky could see them wiring up bombs as well, which would likely level the whole thing and probably the surrounding blocks as well.

The arrival of the Avengers turned things around pretty quickly. Clint had been right about the amount of weaponry they had but Bucky had yet to find himself in a fight where he didn’t have more guns than the other guy, so he wasn’t that worried. He kept half an eye on Clint as he darted about, alternating between putting arrows in assholes and knocking them down with his bow in its quarterstaff mode, but it wasn’t really needed. Even unarmed, Clint would be able to take most of these guys and their bristling armoury.

Bucky felt a surge of affection at the idea of just how skilled Clint was but pushed it back down. He didn’t have time for that right now. It would have to wait for later, when he’d be able to tackle Clint into bed, strip him naked, and show him just how much Clint’s fighting style turned him on.

A gang of the more fanatical Sons had grouped around the central fountain and Bucky could see a couple of guys in the midst of them feverishly working to complete their bomb.

He glanced over at Steve, who gave him a nod. “Don’t get yourself blown up.”

Bucky scoffed. “C’mon, give me some credit.”

He started towards the guys, keeping low and angling his body so that his arm blocked at least some of the bullets they sent spraying at him. For a paramilitary group, they were pretty terrible shots so he didn’t have to do much more than that, especially not when Sam came soaring in from overhead, laying down covering fire that made them duck behind the bell in the centre of the fountain.

“Hurry up,” he heard one of them hiss at the guys laying the bomb, but it was already too late for that. He’d shot three before he’d even reached them, then clubbed another with the butt of his gun, leaving only one, hands shaking as he tried to fit the wires together. Bucky took a step towards him just as a heavy weight landed on his back, a knife skittering over his body armour as he twisted away from it.

In the time it took him to grab the body off him and toss it to one side, the bomber managed to fit the last wire in. He grabbed a detonator, lunged backwards, met Bucky’s eyes and whispered, “Boom,” as his thumb pressed down.

Bucky braced himself for pain and fire as everything froze for a breathless moment, but it didn’t come. The bomber stared down at the detonator, desperately pressing at the burron.

“You know, a bomb is only as good as its circuitry,” said Clint and Bucky glanced over to see him kneeling over a handful of electronics, holding up a disconnected wire. Around him lay scattered bodies, and Bucky realised that most of the fight was now over.

“No!” shouted the bomber, leaping up and throwing himself at Clint. Bucky started forward to stop him but was too slow. He pulled a knife out of nowhere and sent it flying at Clint just before Bucky crashed into him, knocking him to the ground and then punching him out.

Too slow, far too slow, and the world seemed to be moving frame-by-frame as Bucky turned back to Clint to see him splayed out on his back, knife buried in his shoulder and blood soaking into the ground beneath him.

“Clint,” he heard himself say, rushing forward and then dropping to his knees at his side. “Clint, hold on.”

“Yup, will do,” said Clint in a bitten-off voice that betrayed his pain. He glanced down at the knife then made a face and looked away. “Okay, that’s a big knife, do you think he’s overcompensating?”

Bucky’s hands hovered over him for a moment as he tried to work out what he should do. He need to stop the blood that was spilling out, Clint needed that blood to live and breath and make badly-timed jokes.

“Brace yourself,” he said, and pressed down on Clint’s shoulder, trying to stem the flow with his hands.

Clint sucked in a pained breath and his face went white. “Fuck,” he spat out. “Fuck, fuck, Bucky, that fucking hurts.”

“Yep,” said Bucky. In the background he could hear Sam calling for the medical staff to be let through, but he didn’t waste any time looking away from Clint. “And it’s going to keep fucking hurting, because you’re not allowed to check out, okay? You hear me? You’re not allowed to die.”

“I’m not gonna die,” gritted out Clint. “I’m not gonna let these assholes kill me. Way too embarrassing.”

Natasha appeared on the other side of him, holding a jacket or shirt or something. Bucky caught her eyes, then moved his hands for the split second it took her to move the fabric into place around the knife, holding it in place and hopefully stopping some of the blood.

“Jesus fuck,” muttered Clint. “Bucky, Buck, c’mon man, that hurts.” His voice slurred on the words so Bucky leaned over, close to his face.

“Hold on, Clint,” he hissed. “Stay the fuck awake.”

Clint blinked at him. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, vaguely.

The EMTs arrived and took over from Bucky. He rocked back on his heels, watching helplessly as one of them started packing gauze around the knife, pulling bandages out to apply pressure and keep it steady.

“What blood type are you?” the other one asked Clint, who just blinked at him.

“He’s A+,” said Bucky. Half the EMTs in the country must know that by now.

The EMT nodded and started Clint on a transfusion, then they loaded him onto a gurney and took him away.

“He’ll be okay,” said Steve, and Bucky looked around to realise that all the Avengers were gathered while the police took care of the defeated Sons.

Bucky shook his head. “He’d better be, or I’ll kick his ass,” he muttered.

****

“Ow, ow, ow,” muttered Clint under his breath as Bucky helped him lower himself onto the sofa. “Oh man, that’s the stuff,” he said once he was down, relaxing back into it. “I fucking hate hospitals.”

“I know,” said Bucky. “You’ve been whining about them ever since you woke up.”

Lucky nudged his head against Clint’s leg and Clint curled his hand around his ear, petting him with a tiny, pleased smile that Bucky didn’t think he was aware of.

The sight of it made something break open in Bucky’s chest and he collapsed down onto the sofa next to Clint as if his strings had been cut. The grip he’d managed to keep on his emotions while they were in the hospital, surrounded by strangers, gave way.

“Jesus fuck, Clint,” he said. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“Hey, no,” said Clint, shifting towards Bucky and putting his hand on his neck, pulling him close. “Never gonna happen. I’m gonna live forever.”

Bucky leaned forward to press his forehead against Clint’s. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said, fighting to keep the tears out of his eyes. What would he have done if Clint had bled out in that garden and left him planning a funeral instead of how to keep a guy who hated convalescing to take it easy for a couple of weeks?

“Maybe we should think about retiring,” said Bucky. “Go and spend some time out on your farm.”

Clint huffed a sigh and leaned back. “I wondered how long it would be before that one came up again.”

Bucky frowned. “Again?”

Clitn shrugged and reached down to pet Lucky again. “Every time I get hurt more than a bruise or two, you try and talk me into retiring.”

“Do I ever get anywhere?” asked Bucky, without much hope.

Clint snorted and shook his head. “Sorry. Getting hurt is just part of the job, and I really kinda love my job.”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you love it too,” Clint pointed out. “You wouldn’t be happy walking away and living on the farm either. You usually admit that after a couple of days.”

Bucky slumped against the sofa and looked down at where Clint’s fingers were still combing through Lucky’s fur. “Right, okay. I guess if we’ve already been over this.” Not that he could remember any of those conversations. He tried to remember the last time Clint got injured, and could only remember a sprained wrist from a couple of months ago.

“I don’t know why you don’t get sick of it,” he said. Clint turned away from Lucky to look at Bucky with a raised eyebrow. “Having the same conversations all the time,” Bucky clarified. “Do I even want to know how many times we’ve repeated arguments?” 

How long would it take before Clint got sick of reruns and left Bucky with nothing but memories that wouldn’t last?

“Not that often,” said Clint. “I mean, a few months is usually long enough for circumstances to shift, so-” he shrugged. “This, though, this one’s never gonna change. I’m gonna get hurt, and you’re gonna worry about me.” He reached out and took Bucky’s hand, giving him a tug until he moved close enough for Clint to lean against him. “I’d be kind of an idiot to get annoyed that you don’t want me getting hurt.”

Bucky put an arm around Clint, holding him close as carefully as he could to avoid putting strain on his injury. He forced himself to focus on the fact that Clint was here and safe, and already healing, and just push aside the heart-stopping terror of watching him bleed out.

“Besides,” said Clint, in a quiet voice, “one day, I’ll say yes.”

Bucky let out a long breath, then turned to press a kiss on Clint’s forehead.


	3. Bonus: Autumn

It happened in an instant, or that was how it felt. One moment Clint was bitching about the weather over the comms, and the next Thor’s lightning had reflected off whatever weird-ass magic thing Baron Mordo was trying to accomplish on the edge of Woolworth Building and caught Clint in the chest. He let out choked noise of pain that had Bucky moving even before Clint’s whole body went limp and he fell from his perch.

Bucky sprinted to the edge of the building where Clint had been just in time to see him fall through the wormhole that Mordo had created in mid-air.

“Damn you!” cried Mordo. “What have you done?”

Bucky slung his gun over his back and prepared to jump after Clint, because there was no way in hell he was letting him just disappear like that.

A hand caught his shoulder, keeping him in place. “No, wait!” said Steve. “Bucky, just-”

Bucky shoved his hand off without taking his eyes off the wormhole. “I ain’t losing him,” he growled. No matter what was through that wormhole, he was going to go after Clint and get him back, and then yell at him for scaring Bucky like this.

An arrow attached to a rope soared out of the wormhole and Bucky paused, feeling his heart start again. Of course Clint didn’t need his help getting back, he was a god-damn Avenger. The arrow buried itself in the side of the building, holding fast, and a moment later the rope went tight as it took the strain of a body’s weight somewhere within the wormhole.

“No!” shouted Mordo again. “This was meant to-”

There was a crackle of orange magical energy, swirling around the wormhole, and then it abruptly collapsed down into itself, disappearing without a trace. The rope swung free, cut off at the point where it had descended into the wormhole.

“No,” Bucky breathed, and fell to his knees. “No! Clint!”

For a moment it was all he could do to breath, then he turned to where Mordo was posed on the top of a wall, arms still raised from his spell-casting. Bucky pulled the gun off his shoulder as he stood up, aiming it at Mordo as he strode forward. 

“Reopen it!” he shouted. “Reopen the damn thing or I’ll shoot you right in the gut, where it will take you hours to bleed out and die.”

“I can’t,” said Mordo, sounding frustrated. “Two years gathering the resources to open it, and you fools have ruined it!”

Natasha appeared from nowhere, grabbing the neck of his robe and setting her bites to his skin. “You have one chance to change your mind and start getting Hawkeye back,” she said in the kind of low voice that made most bad guys wet themselves.

Mordo shook his head. “I really can’t,” he said. “I don’t even know where he might be, that lightning threw everything off.”

Bucky’s chest felt like it was breaking open. How were they meant to get Clint back if they didn’t even know where he was?

Natasha took a deep breath, then punched Mordo out. She dropped his unconscious body to the ground and look at Bucky. “We’ll get him back.”

Bucky nodded.

****

They didn’t get him back. They took Mordo to Doctor Strange, who spent days trying to unravel exactly what mordo had done and how Thor’s lightning had affected it before he admitted defeat.

“It was a portal to another dimension, but I’m afraid I don’t know which one,” he told the Avengers. “The lightning hit at a delicate moment of its creation, sending it spinning to lock in on a world entirely at random.” He looked at Bucky. “I am sorry, but there are an infinite number of worlds. Hawkeye could be in any one of them.” He shrugged. “And many of them are not hospitable environments. He is likely already dead.”

Bucky looked over at Steve’s helpless expression and knew he couldn’t listen to this. He couldn’t hear the team consign Clint to Missing In Action and know there was no way he was going to be able to find him. He needed to get the fuck out of this room filled with misery and grief.

He stood up and headed for the elevator.

“Bucky,” called Steve, but Bucky ignored him.

He left the Tower and headed for Central Park, losing himself in the crowds of the people as he headed for the middle of the park. The leaves on the trees were just starting to change colour from green to orange and he could hear Clint’s voice in his ear.

_“We’re getting close to my favourite time for taking Lucky out. Fall colours on the trees, it starts to get chilly so I get to wear a hat and fewer people recognise me, and all the damn sunbathers have fucked off so Lucky can run after a ball without having to dodge around them.”_

Bucky took a deep breath, glanced around, and headed off the path into a small stand of trees where he could catch a moment alone. His eyes were filling with tears as he collapsed in the cover of a tree, pulling his knees up and resting his forehead on them.

Clint was gone. As much as Bucky wanted to shake Strange until his teeth rattled, the guy was right. If they didn’t know which universe he was in, there was no way to find him. All they could do was hope that he’d find a way to survive there and that it wasn’t a lava-filled nightmare or a bleak snowscape.

Bucky was never going to see him again. He let the loss roll over him, tears streaming down his face as his choked breathing filled the air. How was he meant to just go on with this pain settling into his bones?

****

A week later, Steve came by the apartment that Bucky was always going to think of as Clint’s. He was sitting on the couch with Lucky slumped at his feet, rolling an arrow between his fingers. It was the grappling arrow Clint had fired from beyond the wormhole; the last thing in this universe that he had touched. Bucky couldn’t seem to put it down.

“Hey, you want to go get some coffee?” asked Steve, in that careful voice everyone seemed to be using with Bucky at the moment.

Bucky shook his head, because there wasn’t a single coffee shop within walking distance that didn’t make him think of Clint.

Steve settled down into a chair and sighed. “Bucky, when did you last shower?”

Bucky tried to think back, then shrugged. Showering didn’t seem important at the moment. “You heard anything more from Strange?”

Steve shook his head. Bucky nodded to himself, clenching his jaw as he stared down at the arrow. “I’m already forgetting him,” he said. “Every day that goes by is one less day of memories and one more day of grief. By Christmas, that’s all I’ll remember about him. That I miss him.”

“Bucky,” said Steve, very quietly. “I’m so sorry. If there was anything I could do, any tiny chance to get him back, you know I’d be there.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “But there isn’t.” Emotion welled up in him but he choked it back down in favour of meeting Steve’s eye. “So, I’m gonna need you to do something else for me instead.”

“Anything you need,” said Steve.

Bucky nodded, putting the arrow down on the sofa beside him and sitting forward to hold Steve’s eye. “If I’m going to forget Clint, then I want to forget him completely. I don’t want to be left knowing I had someone and lost them, but not remember anything about them. So, I’m going to need you to never speak to me about him. I need to wipe the slate clean.”

Steve stared at him. “Bucky, you can’t seriously want to act as if he never existed?”

“That’s exactly what I want,” said Bucky. “I don’t- Steve. I can’t keep on feeling like this.” He looked around at Clint’s apartment, at Clint’s belongings, at Clint’s damned dog giving him a worried, wide-eyed look. Every single part of it hurt to look at. “I’m gonna move to the Tower full time. Pack up all his stuff and, I don’t know, store it somewhere, I don’t think I can throw it out. You need to make sure the others know, I just want to forget everything about him.” He snorted. “I mean, I will anyway, I don’t want to know that I have. Please, Stevie.”

Steve looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

What Bucky wanted was for Clint to walk in as if nothing had happened, for him to kiss Bucky and pet Lucky and make a ridiculous joke about being sucked down a wormhole. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted, so he was going to settle for what he needed instead.


	4. Day Three: Hate At First Sight

Bucky had a favourite place to sit in the penthouse, on a long seat next to a window that gave a view out over the city and had enough room for Lucky to curl up with him. It was where he sat when he was feeling out of sorts, restless and disconsolate in a way that usually meant he’d end up snapping at someone who didn’t deserve it.

He was settled there one afternoon with a mug of coffee, but something about the taste of it had only served to deepen the pit in his stomach so he’d let it go cold. Outside, rain was splattering against the window as the fall weather started to really set in. He rested a hand on the scruff of Lucky’s neck and wondered if everyone had this empty space in their chest, or if that was a consequence of his memory loss. It felt like he was missing something important, like a phantom limb but in his heart.

And now he was just being maudlin. He put the coffee mug down and scratched at Lucky’s head, smoothing down his fur as Lucky raised his head to give him a happy, tongue-lolling look. He couldn’t remember why he’d first got a dog, but it had clearly been a great idea. Lucky somehow always knew to stick close to Bucky on his bad days, giving him quiet reassurance and the occasional affectionate lick.

“I’m going to the range,” said Natasha. “Do you want to come?”

Bucky shook his head without turning around. He didn’t really like doing target practice with other people. He didn’t really like hanging out with other people period.

“So, you’re just going to sit there staring at the rain all afternoon?” she persisted.

Bucky shrugged. There was a quiet sigh from behind him that he ignored.

There was a sizzling crack and orange light was reflected off the window in front of him. He spun to see a circle of orange lightning forming about a foot below the ceiling, spinning around to form a wormhole.

“FRIDAY, Avengers alert,” snapped Natasha, pulling a gun. Bucky jumped to his feet just as a dark figure fell through the wormhole and landed in a heap on the floor with a thump, followed by a pained groan.

Bucky pulled a gun and trained it on him.

“The Avengers are on their way,” said FRIDAY.

“Mother- _fucker_ ,” muttered the guy on the floor.

Lucky suddenly darted past Bucky, making a beeline for the guy with an excited bark.

“Lucky, stay back!” called Bucky, but he was completely ignored. Lucky fell on the guy, covering his face in licks and generally bounding all over him as if he was the second coming of some kind of dog messiah.

“Oh hey, boy,” said the guy, propping himself up on one arm to return the affection with some petting. He was blond and good-looking in a rumpled, over-tired kind of a way. Bucky didn’t let his gun waver for an instant.

“Get your hands off my dog.”

“Holy shit, _Clint_ ,” said Natasha, dropping her gun. She strode forward and fell to her knees next to the guy, and for a moment Bucky thought he was going to experience the frankly-alarming sight of her going as nuts as Lucky was over the guy.

Instead, she just stared at his face, then reached out to shake his shoulder, which was terrifying enough on its own. Did this guy have some kinda magic power that made everyone think he was awesome? Because Bucky wasn’t buying it.

The elevator chimed and Steve and Tony rushed in, all suited up and prepared to defend the Tower from the interloper. Excellent, some back-up.

“He just appeared out of a wormhole,” said Bucky. “We need to get him contained.”

“What?” asked the guy, looking over at him. “Bucky, what are you talking about?”

“Holy fucking shit, it’s Hawkeye,” said Tony, and his armour folded back and off him. “Dude! We all kinda figured you were gone for good.”

Hawkeye. Bucky had heard that name before. He ran through his memory and came up with asking Steve about a photo that a magazine had published of the original Avengers line-up a few months ago for the anniversary of some battle or another.

”Who’s the idiot in all the purple? Is he seriously carrying a bow? Please tell me it was some kinda futuristic laser thing and not an actual Robin Hood-style bow?”

Steve had looked immeasurably sad, the way he did when Bucky had to ask him about something from their childhoods, or what his family had been like. “That’s Hawkeye,” he said. “He was on the team, but he got trapped in another dimension. And yes, that is an actual bow. He was incredible with it.”

Bucky hadn’t asked any more questions because he’d figured that anything that made Steve look like that wasn’t worth finding out about, and it definitely wasn’t worth finding out about for the short time his memory would be able to keep a grip on it.

Hawkeye was still staring at Bucky as if he hadn’t heard Tony. Or, specifically, at Bucky’s gun, which he still had aimed at him. Belatedly, he lowered it. If this was some long-lost Avenger who the others were all happy to see, then Bucky probably didn’t need to hold a gun on him. He wasn’t going to tuck it away just yet though, not before he’d made his own threat assessment of the guy.

“Bucky,” said the guy, as he stood up. “C’mon, don’t- You remember me, right? You have to. It’s barely been three weeks!”

“Clint,” said Natasha softly. “It’s been over two years.”

A broken look that passed over the guy’s face. “No,” he said. “No, it’s- No! I swear to god, it’s only been a couple of weeks!”

“It’s been hypothesised that time might move differently in different dimensions,” said Tony. Hawkeye turned a look of despair on him and he shrugged. “I’m sorry, Clint. He doesn’t remember anything about you.”

Bucky shifted awkwardly. The other Avengers had all arrived and most of them were staring at Clint with varying levels of awed delight. It was very clear that Bucky was the odd one out at this reunion.

Lucky barked again, clearly wondering why he wasn’t getting attention any more, and Hawkeye looked back at him, then crouched down to give him a hug and bury his face in his fur. The sight made something in Bucky’s chest spike in pain and he scowled. That was his damn dog, where the hell did this guy get off trying to steal Bucky’s dog?

“Lucky, come here,” he said, probably more harshly than was necessary.

Lucky glanced over at him, clearly torn, then turned back to Hawkeye and nosed his face into his neck.

Fine. Bucky was happier by himself anyway.

“Let me know when the touching reunion bullshit is over,” he said, and strode for the door. He needed to escape from all the damn emotion in the room before it made him lash out at someone.

“Bucky!” he heard Hawkeye call from behind him, but he didn’t even pause. If the guy had known him before, he’d know that there was no point in trying to chase the friendship or whatever they’d had. It was all just a clean slate.


	5. Day Four: Heat

Clint didn’t have an incredible memory, but he’d always tried that little bit harder to make sure he remembered time he spent with Bucky, because it felt like he was remembering for the both of them. Stupid, probably, because Bucky had only rarely seemed to care that he was going to lose a memory, but still. Clint liked knowing that one of them had every important event and tiny moment held close.

Their first kiss had been on the range, after over an hour of flirting disguised as target practice. The first time Bucky had met Lucky, he’d been hesitant about petting him with his metal arm until Clint had handed him a slice of pizza to feed him, and Lucky had smothered Bucky in excited licks. For Clint’s last birthday, Bucky had taken him off for a ride on his bike, ending up at a field in the middle of nowhere where they’d had a picnic and lazy, sun-warmed sex.

While he’d been trapped in the other dimension, before he’d found someone who could get him home, he’d held onto those memories, going over them until they were polished bright, and he knew he’d be able to describe every detail to Bucky if he needed him to.

But now he wasn’t just the only one who remembered those moments, but also the only one who cared about them. That hurt almost as much as watching Bucky walk into the kitchen, catch sight of Clint by the coffee machine, then turn on his heel and walk away, or the betrayed look that passed over Bucky’s face every time Lucky ran over to Clint in preference to him.

Clint ran a hand over Lucky’s head as he hopped up on the sofa to curl up next to him, and offered Bucky an apologetic shrug. Bucky just glared at him, then turned back to staring out of the window with a glower, which seemed to be what he spent the majority of his time doing now.

A few months after they’d first got together, Bucky had come over to hang out on what had to have been one of the hottest days of the year. After an hour or two of sitting around quietly sweating, they’d ended up in bed with Bucky sprawled naked on his back, holding on to Clint’s thighs as he slowly lowered himself onto Bucky’s cock.

It had been hot in every meaning of the word, sweat dripping off them both as Clint rocked himself up and down, eyes locked on Bucky’s face as he drew in deep, shuddering breaths and ran his hands up Clint’s thighs to bracket his hips. The contrast of Bucky’s heated flesh hand and the lukewarm hardness of his metal one made Clint shudder and push down harder.

“Fuck,” muttered Bucky. “Fuckin’- Clint. So fucking hot.”

“Yeah,” breathed Clint, not able to string together more words than that.

“So fucking incredible. Want to always have this,” said Bucky, and Clint really wasn’t doing this right if he were able to string a sentence together, so he leaned forward, rising up and sinking back down with a hard movement that knocked all the air out of Bucky’s lungs. He groaned and threw his head back, exposing the line of his throat, then sat up, gathering Clint to him and shifting the angle of his cock in a way that sent pleasure shooting through Clint as he clung on to Bucky’s shoulders.

Through the open window, Clint could hear a snatch of laughter from someone passing below on the street. A beam of sunlight was shining through to illuminate the beaded sweat at the base of Bucky’s throat, and Clint couldn’t stop himself from leaning in close to taste it, licking up his neck as Bucky bit out another muffled curse word.

Bucky thrust up into him and Clint lost coherency for a moment, lost in the sensation.

“I want to remember this,” whispered Bucky, rocking his hips up again. “Clint. I want to remember this.”

There was a desperate note in his voice that made something in Clint’s heart crack open, so he leaned in and kissed him, hoping that would wipe away all his thoughts about anything other than this moment right here.

It was only afterwards, when they’d been collapsed next to each, trying to catch their breath, that Clint had actually found words to reply to him.

He reached out for Bucky’s hand, clinging to it despite the heat keeping the rest of their bodies apart. “I’m gonna remember it,” he said. “For both of us. And whenever you forget, I’ll make sure we redo it, exactly like this, so that you’ve always got a memory of it.”

Bucky rolled onto his side, locking Clint with a look that he felt all the way down to his toes. “I love you,” he said in a low, heartfelt voice. “And doesn’t matter what I do or don’t remember, that’s always gonna be true. It’s part of who I am now.”

Shit, Clint shouldn’t be letting himself remember these things. He stared down at Lucky for a moment, choking back the wave of emotion. Lucky rested his chin on Clint’s knee and gazed at him with adoration. At least someone still loved him.

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing over at Bucky, only to see that he was watching him in the reflection of the window. For a moment, their gazes caught and something flickered between them like electricity.

Bucky tore his eyes away and then jumped up. “Lucky, time for a walk,” he said.

Lucky jumped up with excitement at the W-word, darting after Bucky as he strode out of the room. Right, okay, Clint should have seen that coming.

He turned so that he could sprawl out on the sofa and thought about the look Bucky had just given him. There had definitely been something of the heat in it that Clint remembered from before. Maybe Bucky had been right that day, and how he felt about Clint wasn’t dependent on how much he remembered. Maybe there was still a chance for Clint to get him back. He’d just have to work at it.


	6. Day Five: Games

Bucky had to restrain a growl when Barton walked into the range before he was even halfway through his usual target practice.

Barton gave him a broad, shit-eating grin, and went to pull a bow out of a locker. “Hey, hey, been way too long since we shot together. What d’ya say, little bit of friendly competition? You’ve got two more years practice on me now.”

“More like seventy years,” said Bucky.

Barton waved that away. “Nah, we’re only counting time you were awake. Besides, we were pretty much evenly matched before I fell.”

Bucky sighed. More than anything, he wanted to just walk out, away from the itching under his skin that started up whenever Barton was around. It was like he hated the guy so much that he was only one more lame joke away from bursting out of his skin like Bruce Banner or something.

But this was Bucky's time to be at the range, and he wasn’t about to be chased away by a guy who only turned up last week. He turned back to the target.

“Think I’d prefer it if you just fucked off and came back later.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Barton, still sounding way too cheerful. “You love shooting with me. You just don’t remember that yet.”

Bucky clenched his teeth until they were in danger of cracking. “You don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t like,” he gritted out. “Who the fuck knows what’s changed in two years? For one thing, it seems like my tolerance for assholes has diminished.”

Barton let out a long sigh and stepped up to the range. Bucky glanced sideways and saw that the grin had fallen off his face. That should have made him pleased, but instead it just made him feel like a dick. He concentrated on shooting bullseye after perfect bullseye until his clip was empty and he was feeling better, which had the added bonus of drowning out anything Barton might have had to say in reply.

Of course, the problem with that plan was running out of bullets. Bucky ejected the clip and grabbed for the next one, trying to get it in so he could start shooting again before Barton had time to speak, but he was too damn slow.

“I can tell you one thing that hasn’t changed,” said Barton, notching an arrow. “I still love you a ridiculous amount. Even when you’re acting like this.”

Bucky’s next shot went wide. Not enough that anyone else would notice, but enough that he couldn’t keep in a curse. “Quit distracting me.”

“Only if you agree to a competition,” said Barton, shooting his arrow into the dead centre of his target. “C’mon, c’mon, you seriously did used to enjoy them, I refuse to believe you’ve changed that much. And,” he added, turning his grin on Bucky and, Christ, Bucky could probably handle the guy better if that smile didn’t make his stomach twist every time he saw it. “How about this? If you win, I’ll leave you alone for...I don’t know, two days. You won’t see hide nor hair of me.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Four days,” he countered.

“Three,” said Barton. “C’mon, don’t be a douche, you spend all your time in the main lounge at that window, so I’ll basically have to hide in my room.”

Bucky considered it, then held out his hand. “Three days,” he agreed, and Barton reached out to shake it.

“And when I win,” he said, fingers tightening around Bucky’s hand so that he couldn’t pull away, “you’ll have dinner with me.”

“No fucking way,” said Bucky, trying to yank his hand away, but Barton’s grip was stronger than he’d have figured and before he could put some real pull into it, Barton had grabbed his wrist with his other hand to hold it in place.

“Nothing fancy, I swear, we won’t even leave the Tower, just order in some pizza and eat it together, and actually talk rather than just running off, or glaring until you can run off.”

Bucky was half-tempted to bring his metal hand into play, but he wasn’t quite that much of ass. Besides, it wasn’t as if Barton was going to beat him.

****

Barton beat him.

“You cheated!” Bucky exclaimed, throwing down his gun in disgust.

“Nope,” said Barton, doing a little victory dance that made his abs shift in a vaguely hypnotic way. “You didn’t specify I had to keep my clothes on. Besides, I thought you hated me, so my sexy body shouldn’t have distracted you at all, right?” He winked at Bucky and flex his biceps.

Bucky scowled at him. “Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. “Put your damn shirt on and order this damn pizza before I change my mind.”

Barton gasped dramatically. “You mean, you’d go back on a bet? Bucky Barnes, best friend of Captain America, would break his word? A word sealed with a handshake?! Say it ain’t so!”

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned away to hide the smile that was trying to break free at Barton’s dramatics. “The Winter Soldier would break his word,” he said. “And he’d do it with a song in his damned heart unless you get your clothes back on.”

“Jesus, fine,” said Barton, turning away to put away his bow. Bucky noticed he gave it a brief caress before he shut the locker door and wondered if he knew how freaky it was to be that attached to a weapon. He took his gun apart, checked it was all still in perfect condition, then put it back together and tucked in the holster at the back of his pants.

Barton pulled his shirt back, which Bucky told himself was a good thing, and refused to be disappointed about.

“JARVIS, get the usual order,” he said through a mouthful of fabric.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “JARVIS?”

Barton blinked, then cursed. “Fuck, sorry, FRIDAY. Wait, do you even have the usual order on record still?”

“I do,” said FRIDAY, sounding amused. “It was in the files that my predecessor left behind.”

Bucky frowned. “There was an AI before FRIDAY?”

“Yeah,” said Barton. “And now he’s somehow part of Vision? I tried asking Tony what happened, but he just keeps fobbing me off.” He shrugged. “Two years is a long time. Lots of changes.”

Bucky tried to remember anyone ever talking about Vision’s origins and drew a blank. “Sorry,” he said. “Guess Vision’s been around long enough for him to have always been there for me.”

Barton nodded. “I figured,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go tell our dog the good news about the pizza.”

“He’s not _our_ dog,” said Bucky, following him to the elevator. “He’s my damn dog.”

“He was my dog before I even met you,” said Barton. “I rescued him from Russian mobsters. And then you came along, and he was our dog, and then, well, he was definitely your dog while I was gone, but I reckon he’s ours again now.”

Bucky leaned back against the elevator wall and crossed his arms. He didn’t like thinking about how much Lucky clearly loved Barton and was still so very excited to have him back. It made him feel like he was fighting a losing battle, one that ended up with him sitting alone on the seat by the window. “You’re not going to try and win him off me, are you?”

Barton gave him a shocked look that made it clear he hadn’t even considered the idea, which made Bucky feel better. “Course not! Dog ownership doesn't work like that, anyway. You only properly own them when they love you, and Lucky loves you almost as much as I do. He pines when you’re not around. He likes it best when we’re both in the same room.” He shrugged. “I mean, I can’t blame him. I like it best when we’re both in the same room.”

Bucky felt his shoulders tense up. “I wish you’d quit saying that kinda shit,” he muttered. It had been awkward enough for Steve to sit him down and explain that Barton was some kinda long-lost lover of his without having Barton come out with all this romantic crap as well. The elevator pinged open on Barton’s floor and Bucky stalked inside to put some distance between them. “You know I don’t remember any of that.”

“Yeah,” said Barton quietly, as he followed, “but I once made you a promise that I’d remember for both of us, and make sure to repeat the stuff worth keeping often enough for you to always know it.”

There was a soft note in his voice that Bucky couldn’t stand to hear. He threw himself into the couch. “Well, I don’t know jackshit now, so there’s no point.”

Barton looked at him for a long moment, then gave a little nod. “We used to argue about who the dog loved more back then as well. And have competitions on the range that we’d make stupid bets over. I think the stupidest was when I lost and had to tell Steve that we’d decided that we wanted to have a threesome with him for our anniversary and the poor guy believed me for, like, half a second before he tried to kill us both.”

Bucky had been about to try and cut Barton off, but that mental image stopped him dead. Christ, he could actually see the expression Steve would have had. “That’s fucking genius,” he said. “I am seriously impressed with my past self.”

Barton snorted and moved to collapse into a chair. “Tony got JARVIS to keep the footage,” he said. “I bet you anything he’s still got it around. FRIDAY?”

“Searching the servers,” said FRIDAY. “Footage found. Would you like me to play it?”

Barton glanced over at Bucky, clearly making it his choice.

Bucky hesitated. He usually avoided videos of himself because he hated watching himself as if he were a stranger, and he definitely didn’t want to see what the Bucky who was in love with this guy was like, but...Steve’s _face_.

“Yeah, play it,” he said, and Barton beamed at him. For some reason, his grin was a lot less irritating now.


	7. Bonus: Friends And Family

Bucky didn’t know how to feel about Clint after they’d shared a pizza and Clint had told him a bunch of stories about their past together, most of which seemed to come down to them making Steve’s life a misery.

The fact that Bucky was now thinking of him as Clint was probably more telling than he wanted it to be, although he made sure to keep a scowl on the next day when Clint came into the kitchen for his morning coffee and Lucky immediately darted over to him.

“Hey, boy,” said Clint, bending to make a fuss of him. “Good morning.” He glanced up at Bucky. “Good morning to you, too.”

Bucky grunted a vague greeting.

“You’re doing the sexy-grumpy thing this morning,” said Clint, standing back up to head for the coffee machine. He looked back at Bucky to give him a wink. “You’re really rocking it.”

Bucky tried to hold on to his glare but he could feel it wavering, so he stared down at his mug instead.

“Hey, you want to take Lucky out? Been way too long since I strolled through Central Park,” said Clint as he fixed his coffee. “And this is totally the best time of year for it.”

“I hate this time of year,” said Bucky. Going out for a walk with the guy was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

Clin turned with his mug in his hand and sat down at the table opposite Bucky. So much for hoping he’d just take it and go. “Really? That’s new, you didn’t hate it before.”

Bucky managed a shrug. “Cold and raining and depressing as fuck,” he said. He glanced down at Lucky, who was watching them both with the happiness of a dog who was used to being fed from the table and was expecting a treat. “If you want to take Lucky out though, go for it.”

Clint made a face at him. “Bet I can make you like this season, if you give me a chance.”

“No, thanks,” said Bucky. He stood up and headed out of the kitchen with his coffee, because he had a feeling that if he hung around, Clint would somehow talk him into trekking around Central Park all morning.

He headed to his rooms and collapsed onto his sofa, staring up at the ceiling and wondering where the fuck all these emotions had come from.

There was a knock at his door. He groaned. “Tell ‘em to fuck off, FRIDAY.”

A moment later, the door opened and Steve came in, carrying a box. Bucky raised himself up on one arm and glared at him.

“I’d warn you about the wind changing and leaving your face stuck like that,” said Steve, apparently unconcerned by the look, “but I kinda get the feeling it already has. It’s not like I’ve seen any other look on your face recently.”

Bucky collapsed back against the sofa. “Fuck off, Stevie.”

“Nope,” said Steve, coming further in. “I brought you something.”

“Don’t want it,” said Bucky.

“Tough,” said Steve, and dropped the box onto Bucky’s chest.

The air was driven out of Bucky’s lungs from the weight of it and he sat up, shoving it to one side. It was a cardboard box with the lid stuck down by brown tape, and _JBB_ written on the top of it in Bucky’s handwriting.

“The fuck is this?” he asked.

“You left it with me not long after we lost Clint,” said Steve. “You said you couldn’t bear to throw it out, but you never wanted to see it again either. Figured now was a good time to give it back.”

“Why would I want a bunch of crap I don’t remember?” grumbled Bucky.

Steve shrugged. “No idea. Why don’t you take a look and find out?” He left before Bucky could just throw the box at him and be done, leaving Bucky to stare at the box as if it were going to attack.

Fuck it, he’d go through it then take it back to Steve and tell him it was junk. Or, hell, maybe Clint would want it if it was stuff from back when they were together.

He ripped off the tape. The first thing in the box was an arrow with a tip that looked more like a grappling hook than an arrow. Looking at it made Bucky feel weird and nauseous, so he pulled it out and dumped it on the sofa. Underneath was a purple hoodie, soft and well-worn, with frayed cuffs. Bucky ran his hand over it for a moment, then pulled it out to spread over his lap. It felt warmer than he would have expected.

Underneath that was a battered notebook with his initials scrawled in the top corner and _CFB_ written in larger letters in the centre. When he flipped it open, he found a list. It looked much like the one in the notebook he kept in the locker with his weapons, the one detailing the villains the Avengers had fought, the weapons they favoured, and any weaknesses he should be aware of before going into battle with them.

The information in this list was different, though.

_~ Blood type A+_  
_~ Birthday is June 18th_  
_~ Don’t mention his brother_  
_~ Don’t mention any of his family_

Bucky scanned the rest of the list, then flipped the page. There was longer snippets on this page.

_Our first kiss was in the range. He dropped his bow so that he could touch me._

Bucky remembered the way Clint had treated his bow yesterday and tried to imagine him just dropping it without taking more care. Even with his limited knowledge of the guy, he couldn’t see it happening.

_He finds it a massive turn-on to be manhandled, but won’t ever mention it._

Right. Okay. Bucky had to take several minutes to force himself not to think about that too closely, but it was tricky when the mental images just kept bubbling up.

He flipped another page and found details of various presents and treats Bucky must have given Clint while they were going out. Presumably that was in order to avoid him repeating himself. He kept flicking through and found that almost the entire notebook was full with those kinds of things, that he’d clearly once thought were important for him to remind himself of often enough to not ever forget them.

He ran his fingers over the indents of his writing, then flipped the notebook shut and dumped it back in the box. It landed at an angle and he realised there was still something inside.

He pulled out a small box and just stared at the ring inside for a horrified moment. Oh Christ. Was that… Shit. No one had mentioned anything about this, it must have been something that he hadn’t got around to asking yet.

Steve was such an asshole, why the hell had he thought Bucky would want all this crap? Reminders of a past that he was never going to get back?

He chucked everything back in the box and just stared at it. What the fuck was he meant to do with it? Giving it to Clint seemed like an asshole move, when it represented all the shit that he could remember and Bucky never would, but he didn’t want to throw it out. It had all once been so important to Bucky that he’d given it to Steve to look after, after all.

Fuck, the whole thing was making him antsy and restless. He got up decisively and headed for the elevator. He’d work all this emotion off in the gym, then make a decision about what to do.

****

He’d been in the gym for about an hour when Natasha came in, but he still felt mixed up in the way that made him just want to keep punching the bag until split right open.

He reminded himself for the twentieth time that he wasn’t going to do that because Tony was always such an asshole about it when he did.

Natasha did a few warm-ups, then raised an eyebrow at him. “Want to spar?”

“Fuck yeah,” said Bucky. That was exactly what he needed, the kind of all-action aggressive fight that he and Natasha usually had, until he was exhausted and aching in the good, physical way.

Of course, he hadn’t counted on Natasha’s love of just poking at things that should stay buried. He got about fifteen minutes of sparring before she started talking.

“Clint’s my best friend,” she said, ducking under Bucky’s fist then twisted around to hook her foot around his leg.

“Great,” grunted Bucky, jumping over her leg and darting backwards to kick at her. “Steve’s mine. Do you think we should be making them friendship bracelets?”

She ignored him, moving with the force of the kick and then tumbling backwards into a roll and coming up with her fists ready. “I told you once that I trusted you enough with him not to have to make a threatening speech about what I’d do if you broke his heart, but it’s beginning to look like I was wrong.”

She ran at him, leaping into the air to come down on his neck. He caught at her with his metal arm, tightening it around her waist and using her momentum to toss her behind him. She caught him a fierce kick in the head as she fell.

“Not a lot I can do about my shitty memory,” he pointed out, wheeling around to face her.

“True,” she said, lashing out with one fist in an effort to distract him from the kick they both knew was coming. “You don’t know Clint, I get that. Here’s what I don’t get: why aren’t you trying to get to know him?”

“Why the fuck should I?” asked Bucky, grabbing her ankle and trying to pull her off balance. She fell into him, burying both fists in his stomach, making him let go and fall back to recover.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she countered. “You know that you were in love, that you guys had a lot of good times, that you were close friends even before you got together. Why wouldn’t you want to try and get that back?”

Bucky didn’t have an answer to that one so he hit at her instead, but she dodged it.

“I’ve been trying to work it out,” she carried on, “and I think I’ve got it. Because you don’t forget emotions, do you? Just events. You remembered the feeling of being friends with Steve without remembering growing up with him, you get sad every damn fall without knowing it’s because that’s when we lost Clint, you’re always twice as vicious when we fight the Sons of the Serpent or Mordo or anyone else who ever hurt Clint, and I don’t think you even know you’re doing it.”

Bucky didn’t want to hear this. He ran at her but it was clumsy and she easily grabbed his arm and flipped him over, leaving him flat on his back on the mat as she kept talking.

“So, you still love him,” she said. Bucky opened his mouth to protest that and she fell onto him, driving the air out of his stomach with her knee. “Except surely that would only make you want to know him more? But it’s not just love you still feel. The grief’s still there as well, isn’t it? You’re all caught up between love and the pain of losing him, and you don’t know where to turn.”

Bucky grabbed her with his metal arm, using more of its strength than he usually did when they sparred. “Get the fuck off me.”

She jumped up and stepped away, putting her hands on her hips as he sat up. “You’re being an idiot,” she said. “Pretending Clint doesn’t exist won’t change any of those emotions, and all you’re doing is wasting time that you would have killed for two years ago.”

Bucky pulled himself to his feet. “You’re a fucking terrible shrink,” he said. “You don’t know shit about it.”

She raised an amused eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Bucky snarled at her and got the fuck out of there. He felt as if he’d been beaten up by the Hulk, and her words were running around his brain, soft and damning and entirely too accurate.

****

He went up to the main floor and Clint was there, back from his walk and making a sandwich with Lucky slumped on the floor watching him. He glanced over his shoulder at Bucky and gave him that same wide smile that he always had when he saw Bucky, as if he couldn’t imagine anything better than looking at him. Bucky couldn’t remember anyone being that easily pleased just because he’d walked into a room.

God, and it just lit Clint’s face up. He really was beautiful.

Fuck, Natasha had been right.

“You want a sandwich?” asked Clint.

Bucky hesitated, then forced himself to move forward and sit at the table. “Yeah, okay,” he said. Clint’s smile managed to get even wider. Bucky braced himself, and added, “And then do you maybe want to go down to the range? Give me a chance to even the score?”

“Definitely,” said Clint. “Although, good luck with that. I don’t know if you hear, but I’m the greatest marksman in the world.”

Lucky raised himself up and trotted over to push his nose into Bucky’s hand, and Bucky stroked down over his head. “Yeah? I guess we’ll see about that.”


	8. Day Six: Soulmates

“You’re free today, right?” said Clint the minute Bucky stepped into the communal area.

Clint had spent the last couple of weeks coming up with ways for them to spend time together every moment that he could. Bucky had started out just allowing it to happen, but now he was probably as keen on hanging out as Clint was. “Yeah.”

“Awesome!” said Clint, bouncing across the room. Well, maybe Bucky wasn’t quite as keen. “You’re not going to spend it at the window then, you’re going to take me for a ride on your bike.”

Bucky hid his reaction to that with a slow blink. “On my bike?”

“Yep,” said Clint, heading for the door. “I’ll meet you in the garage in an hour.” He left before Bucky could voice an opinion. He glanced out of the window to see that at least it was sunny, even if it was the chilly kind of sunny that came with fall.

God, he really fucking hated this season.

Clint was already waiting for him when he got down to the garage, with a black backpack at his feet. Bucky eyed it suspiciously.

“Please tell me that doesn’t have weapons in it. I’m not in the mood to be dragged on a mission today.”

“No weapons,” said Clint, scooping the bag up to sling over his shoulder and grinning at him. “Something much better than that.”

Bucky didn’t let the suspicious look leave his face, but he did head for his bike. If the last couple of weeks had taught him anything, it was that Clint knew exactly what kind of things Bucky would really enjoy doing.

Presumably because they’d done them all before, but Clint never seemed to have a problem with repeating things, so Bucky wasn’t letting himself think about that.

Riding his bike with Clint pressed up close behind him was a very different experience to riding it alone, especially when Clint started guiding their route with little nudges and the occasional shouted direction that he squeezed even closer to give. They went out of the city, roaring along country roads as Bucky tried to remember the last time he took his bike out just for the fun of it and drew a blank. Was this something else he’d lost while Clint was gone?

When Clint eventually tapped him to pull over, they were in the middle of nowhere, by a meadow surrounded by a rough wooden fence. In the field next to it, a handful of cows gave them dull stares.

“This is it,” said Clint, pulling his helmet off. “Man, just how I remember. Well, okay, the cows are new, but pretty much.”

“You’ve been here before?” asked Bucky, taking his own helmet off and dumping it on the bike seat. He didn’t think he’d have to worry about theft round here, even if someone was stupid enough to try and steal from an Avenger.

“Yep,” said Clint. “About six months ago, or over two years ago, depending on your perspective.” He took a run up and vaulted over the fence, then turned to grin at Bucky. “Come on.”

Bucky followed with less flare, then watched with disbelief as Clint opened up his backpack and pulled out a picnic blanket, which he spread on the ground. “Dude, it’s nearly November. It’s freezing.”

“Yep,” said Clint. “But! We are friends with one of the planet’s foremost technological geniuses.” He pulled a small metal gadget out of the bag and set it beside the blanket, flicking it on with a switch. “Tada! The all-new Stark patented space heater! Guaranteed to turn any chilly fall field to a balmy seventy degrees.”

Bucky crouched next to the heater. It was already starting to work, so he settled on the blanket as near to it as he could get. “You got Stark to build you a heater?”

“Yep,” said Clint. “C’mon, I wasn’t going to wait for the warm weather to do this again.” He threw himself on the blanket and started pulling food out of the bag. “Picnics! They’re the best.”

“Really,” said Bucky, flatly. “You don’t get enough of eating in the open air on missions that have gone horribly wrong?”

“Doesn’t count,” said Clint. “For three reasons. The first is that MRE’s don’t count as picnic food because they’re vile, the second is that it’s only a picnic if you’re on a blanket in the sun, and the third is…” He pulled out a plastic tub, “Cold pizza! Food of kings!”

Bucky couldn’t keep from laughing. “Okay, okay, fine,” he said. “I ain’t eating that, though. Gimme the chips.”

Clint lobbed a packet at him, and Bucky settled in to enjoy himself.

It wasn’t until most of the food was gone and Clint was telling Bucky all about some mission that had ended up with half the Avengers covered in chicken feathers that he put this thing together with one of the lines in the notebook.

_Birthday 2017. Bike ride, picnic, sex in the meadow. Plushie arrow (went down great. Probably didn’t need to have bothered with the rest of it.)_

This was what Bucky had done for Clint on the last birthday he’d had before the wormhole. 

Man, he’d been a freaking awesome boyfriend.

He glanced around the field, and then at the heater, and realised that Clint must have been as well. He wondered how many of the other things they’d been doing were repeats of things they’d done before, and then felt like an idiot. Of course they all were. Clint had as good as told Bucky that already. 

_I once made you a promise that I’d remember for both of us, and make sure to repeat the stuff worth keeping often enough for you to always know it._

Except they wouldn’t be exactly the same, thought Bucky, looking around the field again and remembering that the notebook said they’d had sex here.

“You okay?” asked Clint. “You’ve gone a bit, you know.” He waved his hand at Bucky’s face. “Blank-stare-y. Are you have some kinda deep thought, or regretting eating that many chips?”

Bucky looked at him, noticing the way the sunlight was glinting off his hair. “I was just thinking,” he said slowly, giving himself time to rethink this, “this looks like a pretty swell place to kiss you.”

The smile that spread over Clint’s face was like the sun coming up. Jesus, how the hell was someone that damn beautiful even legal? “Yeah, I reckon it is.”

Bucky leaned towards him at the same time as Clint reached for him, and for a moment they were both in slightly the wrong place, then Clint shifted his head just so, and they were kissing.

Clint’s mouth was warm and soft and familiar. Bucky hadn’t expected to already know just how to kiss him, soft and slow to start out then deeper and with more feeling as they eased into it. He guessed it made sense; he didn’t forget skills once he’d learnt them, just the context that he’d learnt them in.

“Christ,” said Clint softly when they’d parted. He leaned his forehead against Bucky’s and let out a gentle laugh. “I wasn’t expecting this so soon. It took us nearly a year last time, I was all ready to wait.”

Bucky ran his fingers over Clint’s hair and cupped the back of his neck. “You didn’t factor in that I never stopped loving you,” he said. “I loved you even when I didn’t know you.” He snorted. “Jesus, listen to me, sounds like some kinda stupid romance soulmate bullshit.”

“No,” said Clint, gripping at his shoulder, “it’s- Fuck, Bucky. You always told me you wouldn’t ever stop loving me, even if you forgot me. I guess I shoulda believed you.”

He kissed Bucky again before Bucky could agree that everyone should always listen to him, so he let it go in favour of tasting Clint’s mouth. For a moment he wished that this was a memory he’d get to keep, but the thought was fleeting. Clint would keep bringing him out here every time he forgot, so that he’d always have a memory of holding Clint in his arms surrounded by the smell of grass and the sound of birdsong and that one really noisy cow.

_He finds it a massive turn-on to be manhandled, but won’t ever mention it,_ he remembered from the notebook. Yeah, okay, he could get behind that.

Bucky locked his metal arm around Clint’s waist and lifted him up, pulling him into his lap. Clint made a breathy noise and pulled away to stare at him with dark eyes. 

“Ass,” he said, shifting so that his legs were wrapped around Bucky’s waist.

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, and went back to kissing him. They’d had sex here last time, right? They should definitely make sure that bit got repeated.


	9. Day Seven: New

It turned out that one of the other skills Bucky was great at but hadn’t remembered was blowjobs. Or, at least, it seemed from Clint’s reactions that he was pretty damn good at them.

Afterwards, they lay on the blanket with Bucky’s head on Clint’s shoulder and Clint’s arm around him, absently stroking over the line of his shoulder blade.

“So, how was that compared to last time?” Bucky asked, and then wished he hadn’t. He shouldn’t be trying to compare this to something he was never going to remember; he should just enjoy it on its own merits.

Right, because he was so good at just enjoying a moment.

Clint laughed in response. “Pretty damn good,” he said. “I mean, definite points for it being unexpected, but I’ve gotta be honest,” Bucky braced himself for something he didn’t want to hear, “it would have been better without that cow watching.”

Bucky turned his head. One of the cows had come right up to the fence and was watching them with more interest than he really felt comfortable with. “Christ, how long has she been there?” And why hadn’t he noticed? He was meant to be a trained assassin, surely he should have noticed they had an audience?

He guessed Clint was just that distracting.

“Since about the stage when your shirt came off,” said Clint. “Kinda made the whole thing feel a bit exhibitionist, which isn’t always a bad thing, but...cows.”

Bucky stared at the cow. The cow stared back, then ducked her head and let out an exhalation of air, as if trying to express her disappointment that they’d stopped having sex. Bucky forced himself to look away and focus back on Clint instead.

“Hopefully they’ll be in a different field next time we come here.”

“Next time,” repeated Clint, and then beamed at Bucky. “Yeah.”

“Maybe not for a few months though,” added Bucky. “Tony’s heater is great and all, but it’s still not the warmest place to be.” He cuddled closer to Clint, because the obvious solution to being cold was to put some of his clothes back on, but fuck that. He wasn’t going to do anything that might encourage Clint to cover up.

“Yeah, okay,” said Clint. “It was really hot in summer, which added a sexy amount of sweat to proceedings. I’m totally on board with that happening again.”

Bucky wouldn’t remember this moment at all by then. This field would feel like a completely new place, he wouldn’t know to look out for voyeuristic cows, he wouldn’t remember just how pleased Clint had been when Bucky made a move. Even if he put something in his notebook about it, all he’d have is bland words to try and construct a mental image out of.

“It’ll be all new to me,” said Bucky. “Again.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t that drive you nuts? Not being able to build on anything with me?”

Clint laughed. “You’re kidding me, right? What part of this isn’t completely built on what we had before? Okay, so you don’t remember that we were a bit closer to that hedge last time, or that you bought Champagne but didn’t factor in the effect of a bike ride on it, so it completely exploded when you opened it and we both ended up covered in fizz, but what does that matter? Those are just details. What’s important is right here.” He squeezed his arm around Bucky.

Bucky raised his head so that he could kiss Clint. “Yeah, okay,” he said, then had to clear his throat to get some of the emotion out of his voice.

“Plus, I really like this thing where we can do the same old shit and it’s brand new every time,” said Clint. “Less taxing on my imagination and-” He hesitated, then shrugged awkwardly. “Kinda feels like we’re always in the awesome first few months of a relationship, you know? Like it’s just all the newly-wed phase. But with more foundation to it.” He shrugged again, then turned so that his face was barely an inch from Bucky’s. “Ignore me, I’m talking post-sex sentimental crap.” He pecked Bucky’s lips and sat up, reaching for his pants.

Bucky lay back and watched him get dressed. _Newly-weds_. He thought about that ring, sitting in the bottom of a box gathering dust, and about how he could so easily imagine giving it to Clint, even though the only relationship he could remember with him was the last couple of hours.

Yeah, okay.


	10. Day Eight: Free For All

Thanksgiving at the Tower was bedlam. Sam was the only Avenger who had the kind of family he went home to for holidays, which left everyone else to invite over anyone they could think of who didn’t have anywhere to go.

That turned out to be a lot of people. Bucky wondered if they should look into the correlation between a shitty childhood and growing up to think fighting super-powered megalomaniacs was a good career choice, then decided it probably would only reveal things they didn’t want to know.

Tony had hired caterers, but made them leave early to go home to their families, “C’mon, I’m not a monster, go on,” which meant Bruce, Pepper and Vision were in the kitchen trying to work out how to finish the food off without destroying it. Steve and Natasha had taken charge of laying the table, which seemed to involve an awful lot of serious discussions that sounded almost like battle strategies. Tony was wandering around with a bottle in each hand, topping up any glass that was even a little bit empty, and Deadpool was following him around with a bowl of nuts which he was being kinda aggressive about forcing on people.

“Is it always like this?” Bucky asked Clint, leaning back against a wall and wishing he could just merge through it to escape, like Vision could.

Clint shrugged. “Pretty much. I mean, obviously I missed a couple of years, but yeah. Just be glad Thor’s in Asgard still, he goes nuts whenever we have a holiday.”

Bucky didn’t remember Thor because he’d been in Asgard for nearly a year now, but he’d heard enough stories to guess what Clint meant. “We got any Thanksgiving traditions or anything?” he asked. “I mean, just me and you?”

Clint shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “Well, okay, we usually end up escaping to the roof to get away from all the noise and people after dinner, but that’s kind of our go-to tradition for large-scale gatherings of any kind.”

“I like the roof,” agreed Bucky. “How long do we have to hang out here before we escape?”

Clint snorted. “Way too long,” he said, which was when Tony advanced on them with his bottles. 

“C’mon, c’mon, enough wallflowering, join the party,” he said. “We had enough of you moping around the last couple of years, show a little enthusiasm, will’ya?”

“Moping?” said Clint, glancing at Bucky.

“Sure,” said Tony, taking Clint’s distraction as a chance to top up his glass. “I think he managed about twenty minutes last year before he ran off and hid somewhere, and he didn’t bother turning up at all the year before that. Mind you, he still remembered you falling at that point, I don’t think any of us were expecting him to show.”

“Ah, right,” said Clint. He was giving Bucky a look that made him feel very uncomfortable.

“Hey, have I mentioned how great it is to have you back yet?” asked Tony. “And not just for tall, dark and gloomy’s sake, although it’s been kinda great to remember that he does actually know how to smile. In fact, you know what? I reckon that’s what I’m thankful for this year.”

He turned to the room and raised his arms, holding the bottles up in the air. “Guys! Guys!” The room quietened. “This year, I’m thankful that we got our archer back.”

There was a general cheer and several people repeated his words as a toast.

“Aw man,” muttered Clint, looking like he wanted to sink through the floor. Bucky put an arm around his shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

Bruce emerged from the kitchen looking red-faced and dishevelled, with cranberry sauce smeared on one cheek. At least, Bucky hoped it was cranberry sauce. “Dinner is ready,” he announced. “Sit yourselves down.”

There was a general move towards the table. Clint let out a little sigh as the room’s attention left him, and Bucky leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“You know, I’m kinda grateful for that as well,” he said.

Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty grateful to be back,” he said. “Although, I really could have done without the two years thing, that really sucked. I worked so hard to get back as soon as I could so you’d remember me. Fucking dimensional temporal anomalies.”

“You’re here now,” said Bucky, kissing him again. “And, hey, give it a few months and I won’t remember that you were ever gone. This thing cuts both ways.”

It would feel like Clint had been in his life forever, like most of the other people in this room. Bucky was looking forward to it.

Maybe that meant today was the day.

He took Clint’s hand as they headed towards the table to take their seats. “Hey, can we escape to the roof as soon as dinner is over?” 

“Definitely,” said Clint, dodging as Scott Lang ran past them, pursued by Danny Rand yelling something incoherent about the sacred traditions of K'un-Lun. “I’ll be more than done with this circus by then.”

****

Escaping to the roof after the noise and excitement of dinner was a blissful relief. Bucky stopped off at his rooms on the way up, so Clint was already there when he arrived, sat with his feet dangling off the building and a soft, happy look on his face.

God, Bucky loved him so much.

He settled beside him, leaning into his warmth. “You know, it’s not often I agree with Tony, but he was right earlier,” he said. “The one thing I’m really grateful for this year is getting you back.”

There was more emotion in his voice than he was really okay with, but he figured that if a guy couldn’t get a bit choked up doing this, when could he?

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Clint, reaching out to take his hand. “You won’t even know I was gone by spring, remember?”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. “But I do right now. I remember what it was like to be without you, to not know why it felt like I was missing something crucial, and I know what it’s like to have you here with me. For these few months I know exactly how important your presence is in my life.”

“Bucky,” said Clint softly, squeezing his hand.

Bucky cleared his throat. “So, that’s why I wanted to ask you if you’d always be in it.”

He fumbled as he pulled the ring box out of his pocket and for a horrible moment he had a mental image of it falling the hundred storeys to the ground, but he kept hold of it as he opened it and showed Clint the ring inside. “Will you marry me?”

Clint stared at the ring for a long moment without moving, and Bucky felt his heart creeping further up in his throat with every beat.

“Bucky,” said Clint, and glanced up at him. He was smiling, that was good, right? He wouldn’t be smiling if Bucky had fucked this up. “I bought that ring.”

Bucky stared at him. “What?”

Clint laughed, reaching out to take the box and look closer at the ring. “I had it stashed away for a few months before I fell. I couldn’t decide if it was a great idea, or just kinda mean to ask you to stand up and make a vow in front of everyone that you wouldn’t remember after a few months.”

“Clint, I’d make that vow every day if you wanted,” said Bucky. “C’mon, we had two years apart, I completely forgot you, and here we are less than two months later. This is it for me.” He looked back at the ring. “I must have found that after you fell, when I was packing up.” God, that must have hurt. Bucky was glad he couldn’t remember it.

Clint leaned in and kissed him. “And now you’re giving it back,” he said, just as easily as that, as if Bucky hadn’t fucked this up by giving the man his own damn ring back.

Bucky took a breath. “So, is that a yes?”

“Of course it is,” said Clint. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I say yes? Even I’m not that much of an idiot.”

Oh, thank fuck. Bucky put his arms around Clint and kissed him, feeling Clint’s smile against his lips. And yes, in a few months he wouldn’t remember this moment but the feelings welling up in his chest were going to stay, so what the fuck did the rest of it matter?


End file.
